


call it a badge of honor

by dirgewithoutmusic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dumbledore's Army, Gen, Short, Slytherin Defense Squad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:22:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8680372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirgewithoutmusic/pseuds/dirgewithoutmusic
Summary: In those halls, they faced down Death Eaters under the guise of teaching robes. They faced them with raised wands, raised fists, or just raised chins, these children who kept telling stories in the dark about Harry Potter, who was going to save them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> zombee asked: for prompts: how about an "inside the resistance" fic. we've gotten glimpses of dean and lee and some others in your other fics, but i'd love to see your take on what was happening during deathly hallows that we really only heard about through harry's pov.

Astoria Greengrass, Slytherin, perfected her ability to crumple up her face, cry quietly, and make even Death Eaters uncomfortable. She was a person, after all, in the way so many children weren’t to them– she was small and pureblooded and lovely. Astoria was safe in the halls until the very end, and she passed on information, supplies, warnings, children, and plans to the DA through every day of the occupation.

Cho Chang, Ravenclaw, manned the front desk at Flourish and Blotts. She kept the Anti-Muggleborn pamphlets out beside the register and hid the Squibs and Muggleborns she was smuggling to safety behind the false wall in the store room. She had excelled at Charms in school. She had excelled at most things.

Lee Jordan, Gryffindor– his radio station was mobile. They broadcasted from the Three Broomsticks’ supply room, his aunt’s dusty summer home out in the country, an Illusioned corner of a Muggle coffee shop (they just saw some kids playing D&D– a Muggleborn informant of Lee’s had designed the spell), a once-inhabited cave outside Hogsmeade, and one memorable public men’s washroom only three blocks from the Ministry headquarters itself. They had a lot of fun contributing to the stall graffiti in that one.

Professor McGonagall listened to Lee’s radio show in her faculty quarters, heavy under dampening wards. The first night she flicked on the show, she clutched her cooling teacup for the entirety of it, feeling older than even herself.

Lee spat out rapid fire news with a cool drawl, asking questions and bringing on informants. She didn’t once feel the driving urge to scold him across the Quidditch announcer’s booth for commenting on players’ dating statuses or cursing out the opposing team.

Lee’s voice over the crackling radio was bright and clever, focused and on point, needed. Minerva clutched at her tea cup and tried to feel proud instead of heartbroken.

Ernie Macmillian, Hufflepuff, had looked up to Cedric Diggory since the prefect had said hello to a small first-year. When Ernie boarded the train back to Hogwarts, for that terrible seventh year, his hands were shaking under the weight of his bags. “Remember,” he whispered. “When there is a choice between what is right, and what is easy, remember…”

Neville Longbottom, Gryffindor, grew two inches that year and no one noticed. They all just thought he was standing straighter.

There was a small collection of first years for whom this was their first year at Hogwarts: There was Felice White, Ravenclaw, who had come for the library and spent most of her time there. Madame Pince turned a blind eye and made sure she ate regularly. There was Gregory Tong, Hufflepuff, who was the youngest of four and had been dreaming of Hogwarts for years.

The older students told stories about Harry Potter, about Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, Gryffindor, who were out there winning the war.

They told stories– how the trio had saved the Philosopher’s Stone at age eleven. Potter had killed a basilisk, and a hundred dementors, and won the Triwizard Cup. They told stories in the dark, these kids who had sat behind Harry in the Great Hall and thought his hair a mess, who had booed him in Quidditch games and snickered to see him dance awkwardly at the Yule Ball.

“He’ll save us,” they said.

Granger had brewed up Polyjuice Potion in a girls’ bathroom. Potter could cast a corporeal Patronus. Weasley had beaten McGonagall at chess– McGonagall at chess. And they had faced down a murderer, or something, hadn’t they, in their third year? And the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself in fifth– and whatever had happened to Umbridge?

Granger had brewed a Polyjuice Potion in a girls’ bathroom– so Sue Li, Ravenclaw, took her spare cauldron to the stall past Moaning Myrtle’s and got to work. Astoria Greengrass got Sue bits of hair from Death Eaters and favored Slytherins and Sue tiptoed carefully in their various visages for months. She sent Hogwarts news down to the generals–Luna, Neville, Ginny–and the rest out the passages to Lee’s radio and the resistance.

Potter could cast a Patronus, and he had taught as many as had been willing to learn under Umbridge’s shadow. More were willing now–more wanted to make hope tangible, something bright to be used to protect, to defend, to send careful news long distances to friends.

Seamas Finnegan, who had played chess with Ron, poured over the changing maps that the Room provided. Hannah Abbott snuck out to the greenhouses on dark nights to gather what she needed to brew things to confuddle, to injure, to protect. The Room of Requirement provided food and water, but all the same every month or so the kids pulled a raid on the kitchens just to prove that they could.

Colin Creevey found a Slytherin first-year, crying, and gave him a chocolate bar and held his hand until he was done. Anthony Goldstein spent days hiding out in the Restricted section of the library, finding things to make them stronger, safer, wiser.

In those halls, they faced down Death Eaters under the guise of teaching robes. They faced them with raised wands, raised fists, or just raised chins, these children who kept telling stories in the dark about Harry Potter, who was going to save them.

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione came back to Hogwarts, Dumbledore’s Army was waiting. Seamas had his maps. Neville had grown two inches and no one had noticed. Hannah offered up potions, and Sue secrets, and Anthony had been teaching the rest of them powerful old spells for weeks.

But Astoria Greengrass sat out the final battle in the Hogwarts dungeons, with the rest of House Slytherin.

Pansy Parkinson sulked and shivered. Blaise Zabini managed to look like he was lounging, even within these ominous walls. Astoria pressed herself up against the door and watched the light of curses flung far above. She listened. She waited. She tried Alohomora on the lock fifteen times, and then swapped to destructive spells that only singed it.

Astoria Greengrass sat out the final battle, listening to her friends fight for their lives far above her head, waiting for bad news. She listened to her big sister Daphne gently tease Pansy into a more cheerful state of mind, and Astoria tried to decide who she would hate most if the people she had been fighting for all year died up there, without her.

Years later, after victory, after rebuilding, after petitions from her peers, the Ministry gave Astoria an honorary medal for the brave acts of a civilian in wartime.

It was part thank you, and part apology. It did not make up in the slightest for Astoria having to stand at Colin’s funeral, at Lavender’s, at Fred’s, and to know that they had died while she was pacing in the dark, flinging useless curses at a locked door.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here: http://ink-splotch.tumblr.com/post/153280362554/for-prompts-how-about-an-inside-the-resistance


End file.
